As a Stone
by KarotsaMused
Summary: There are many kinds of drunks. Happy, angry, sad, chatty. Kyouya learns what kind of drunk he is, and just how comfortable a cheap t-shirt can feel. 5/Kyouya, previous Kaoru/Kyouya.
1. Standing

A/N: So this is not your typical crossover. It's set post-series for Ouran, and outside of Saiyuki canon, and it breaks a lot of rules.

That said, it's awesome too. I got a kick out of how much crack I crammed into it. Rating for language and homos. Welcome to a crossover world where everyone is beautiful and also gay! Thank you to the Bean for the beta!

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><p>Kyouya woke up late on a Sunday morning with a headache.<p>

This in itself was not new. His habits of staying up late to work meant he often slept in on weekends, and the eye strain that accompanied staring at a laptop in the middle of the night caused headaches that carried over into the next day.

However, he never slept in his street clothes, above the blankets, nor did he often clutch his pillow to his chest like a child.

He groped for his glasses, found them on the bedside table, put them on. The world swam into painful focus. He looked down at himself, noting that yes, he did go to bed in his blue jeans, and a soft, green shirt with a pattern on it that he found unfamiliar.

Kyouya paused. With every moment, he was growing more certain that he'd never seen the shirt he was wearing before in his life. A man knows his own clothes, even if his wardrobe was subject to periodic raiding.

He looked around his bedroom, and leaned to get a view through his door into the apartment beyond. Nothing appeared out of place. He got slowly, unsteadily to his feet, swallowed thickly, and tottered to the bathroom. This, too, seemed quite normal. He slipped his glasses off again, bending to wash his face in a little cool water.

And remembered Tamaki saying something about how, since they were in America, they ought to live like the locals. That meant a commoner house party, with some of the students from the university Haruhi was attending.

Kyouya, face washed, turned off the water and pressed his face into a cool, dry towel. It had been a loud and busy place, with commoners seeming to crawl out from under the floorboards, packing into communal areas to drink and dance and laugh. He'd been given a red cup of punch and had sipped at it to appear polite.

He rubbed his forehead, coming to the slow and damning conclusion that he was, in fact, hung over.

His phone rang.

He jumped, then crossed the room to pick it up, squinting at the display. Not only did he have an incoming call, he also had six voicemails and thirty-two text messages. And fifteen e-mails.

Kyouya decided he couldn't listen to Tamaki just that instant and ignored the call. He flipped through the texts instead.

The ones from the night before started out as variations on "Where are you?", but as the night wore on they progressed to, "Did you leave?" and finally, "Call me Sunday!"

The voicemails were similarly nonsensical, Tamaki's chatter drowned out by the party noise. He must have gotten separated from him, and the moron panicked.

He sighed, ready to delete them all, when he saw the last voicemail was from Kaoru.

Kyouya narrowed his eyes and listened.

"It's Kaoru. You're going to want to call me first, okay? No matter what anyone else tells you. I'm doing you a favor."

With a half-swallowed groan, Kyouya called.

"Morning, sempai," answered Kaoru. "I'm surprised you're up this early."

"What happened," asked Kyouya flatly. "If you don't tell me-"

"You'd have to figure it out on your own, and I'm the only one who was sober enough to remember it."

Kyouya paused. Then said, "Kaoru. What happened?"

"You got wasted. Everybody was surprised. I mean, you're a pretty decent sized guy, for being unable to hold your liquor."

Kyouya winced. He hadn't remembered drinking all that much, though the night was coming back to him. It had been a cup, to be polite.

"And then you disappeared. Do you want to know where you went?"

"Did we fuck, Kaoru," he asked, dark and flat.

Kaoru laughed. "No, we didn't. But you went off with some _other_ redhead. That mass-produced piece of shit you're wearing is his. If you haven't changed out of it yet."

Kyouya pinched the bridge of his nose. Hard. "And you're angry?"

"I admit, it pissed me off you dropped me like a hot rock. But I guess he was more your type, and who am I to compete with a third-class nicotine addict?"

"_Kaoru_."

Kaoru laughed again, though this one was softer. "Don't worry. I won't tell a soul. It's your new boyfriend you have to worry about. Nice hickey, by the way."

Kyouya heard, dimly, the sound of Kaoru hanging up, but he was busy probing the side of his neck with his fingertips. When he found the sore spot, high behind his left ear, he growled.

With a sudden lurch, his stomach twisted. He didn't yet have the strength to be furious, nor the willpower to direct his fury outside himself. So he drank two cups of cold water, looking at himself in the mirror, willing the shirt he wore to give up its secrets.

It did smell a little like smoke, since Kaoru mentioned it. It had no tears, no stains, but the neck was stretched and the shoulders were loose around his own. A redhead in a green shirt.

It was too early for this. He headed for the kitchen, for another glass of water and a bowl of old rice. Why he'd chosen to live in an apartment by himself, uncatered, without servants nor security, he couldn't really decide. It seemed right, for a man heading into his adulthood, to take some time and live on his own to prove that he could. When the majority of his actions were undertaken to prove his strength, he was admittedly rather desirous of challenges.

Kaoru had been a challenge, in the beginning. A challenge to hold at arms' length, to keep in the realm of physical and professional, not emotional. He knew he could never really adore him, but the sex had been pretty good and that, for a high school boy, was all he really needed. But Kaoru, in the way of gentler, younger boys, had begun to care.

Hell, they hadn't so much as had a moment alone for nearly a year. It wasn't as though Kyouya had done anything to intentionally hurt him. But there was Kaoru, making unnecessary drama.

It was difficult for Kyouya to reminisce fairly with a splitting headache. He gave himself that much.

A redhead in a green shirt. Now in a gray shirt. His gray shirt. He'd liked that shirt.

He flipped through his phone on the off chance he'd gotten a number, gotten _something_, but. He couldn't remember the guy. Not his face, not his name. He remembered the smell of him, cigarette smoke and skin and soap, not cologne, just soap. Who had he been?

His phone chimed in his pocket.

He pulled it out, and the screen display read: "Meet me for lunch? You have my favorite shirt."

After a moment's hesitation, he responded. "1pm? I haven't washed it."

He had another swallow of water, waiting. Then, with a frustrated grunt, pulled the shirt off over his head. He needed to shower. To get into his own clothes again.

The phone vibrated, the display reading, "Not a problem. Santa Maria's?"

A taco shop. Classy, especially after a night of drinking. Kyouya let out a sigh, his faint hope that this might go well withering. He responded, "Fine."

It wasn't until halfway through his shower that he started to remember, bits and pieces. He'd stopped because he had to go home, couldn't spend the night in a stranger's house with a man he'd never met, having some tiny inkling of self-preservation. But he'd started because he'd wanted to, kissing a stranger just to feel him respond.

Cursing himself, Kyouya dried, dressed, and headed out into the early afternoon. For the extent of damage control he had planned, he wished he could have at least remembered the cause completely.


	2. Sink

A/N: Okay so the first chapter got too TL;DR for me. I did some rearranging. Tadaaaaaaa...

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><p>Kyouya's eyeglasses were the sort where the lenses darkened in the presence of sunlight. They were a blessing on the drive to the taco shop.<p>

He parked a block away in a residential area, as the taco stand's parking lot was shared with a laundromat. On Sunday, the place was mad with families doing the wash, and he had no intention of letting his car get scratched by a plastic laundry basket.

He'd remembered, over the commute, that the shirt belonged to someone named - Joe. Or something that sounded like Joe. He remembered saying that much while _getting_ the hickey. It was in just the right place that, if he plastered the hair on the back of his neck a little forward, it was hidden, but he still felt a little tug every time he turned his head.

Joe had been tall, with red hair in a ponytail. And almost no chest hair, and scars like flowers ruining the smoothness of his skin. He'd let Kyouya touch them, even the ones on his face, so long as they didn't stop kissing. It was almost like a rule he'd enforced, though Kyouya hadn't really cared, at that point, about asking questions.

When he got up to the front of the taco stand, Joe was already there. Only it wasn't Joe. It was two syllables. Kyouya mulled this over as the man smiled and held out a paper cup of coffee.

It took Kyouya half a second longer than he'd have liked to realize that it was for him.

"Thank you," he said softly, taking a slow sip. Memory reared its head and gave him: "Gojyo."

Gojyo's smile quirked; he'd gotten it right. "Morning."

Kyouya busied his mouth with the coffee. That was right. Gojyo's voice was rough and soft at the same time, like an old, worn, cheap mass-produced piece of shit t-shirt.

"Did you want to order?" asked Gojyo, nodding toward the window.

Kyouya shook his head, thought better of it too far into the gesture, and winced as he stopped. "No. I'm quite fine, thank you."

Gojyo looked at him for a long moment, then smiled a rather resilient smile. He said, "You've gotta put something on that. I have an idea."

As Gojyo turned to the window to order, Kyouya thought, _I'm sure you do_. It was just the sort of pretentious confidence that grated. It said, I know what you want better than you do. It didn't help that, in the back of his head, he heard it echo in Kaoru's voice.

Kaoru. There was something he wasn't letting on, something for which he'd make Kyouya pay. He knew, to the Hitachiin twins, life was a game. And Kyouya's hand was an absolute bust.

Gojyo came back with a plastic bag filled with styrofoam containers, and gestured to one of the shadier tables. "Have a seat?"

Kyouya realized over half his coffee was gone. He swallowed, weighing his options. But staying still held the promise of more information than leaving, and he needed the intelligence more than he needed to go back to bed.

When he sat, he was stunned at the sheer amount of containers Gojyo pulled out of the bag. More so that it appeared three cups and a paper bag were for him.

Gojyo smiled and said, "It's just the soup of the day and some rice. And a couple tortillas. I went for the mildest ones, but if you want something a little heavier I've got more than enough to share."

He thought his stomach would have turned at the smell, but he found his mouth watering. And the third cup, it appeared, had water. So Gojyo was _considerate_.

He said a quiet thanks, then had a few bites, feeling his stomach settle and his headache start to ease. Then sighed.

Gojyo said, "I'm glad you made it home alright. Looked a little iffy when you left in such a rush."

Kyouya tried to remember, gave up, said a noncommittal, "Did it?"

"Yeah," said Gojyo. He smiled. "But it looks like you lived."

"I did," agreed Kyouya, his eyes on the soup. It was startlingly delicious. He had another mouthful and forced a polite, "So did you."

Gojyo chuckled. "Well, yeah, but I didn't set out on my own. And I wasn't the one who had a second cup of punch." At Kyouya's frown he grinned and added, "You said you liked the high fructose corn syrup. I think you were being sarcastic."

Kyouya sighed, ashamed of himself. Honestly, how far had he fallen in one night? He sounded like _Tamaki._ "Oh."

Gojyo chuckled. "Ye-eah. And you made me promise that, on our next date, I'd take you somewhere that we could find the sort of candy that pretended it was fruit."

Kyouya winced. "Ah, I see you find imbeciles appealing then."

"Nah. It was cute." Gojyo chewed contemplatively for a moment, then smiled. "I mean, if you want to go obvious, the mall food court has that crazy candy place with the barrels. And there's a movie theater in there."

"I would, quite honestly, fall asleep," said Kyouya, before he could stop himself. He didn't mean to lead Gojyo on, couldn't possibly pursue an honest relationship with another man in the face of the uproar it would cause back home with his family, not when Gojyo seemed... really earnest about it.

He was such a sucker for the honest romantic. He had to stop this before it went too far.

But it had already, hadn't it. Kaoru knew what he'd done, and if he stepped indelicately, so would anyone he could tell, promise of secrecy or not. Kaoru was not so saintly as not to use his indiscretions as a weapon. A fashion designer was expected to be sexually adventurous; Kyouya had far more to lose.

Perhaps that was it. This guy was just a commoner, who wanted a nice date or two, maybe a relationship, someone to sit in front of the television with and do commoner things on weekends, like laundry or errands.

He looked at Gojyo, who was smiling, who was saying he understood about quiet music and dark places, who was handsome and considerate and didn't _deserve_ any of that.

But, he realized, Gojyo also had absolutely no clue who he was. And, well, sometimes one had to be cruel to be kind.

"I'm sorry for whatever it was I said when I was drunk," he said softly, looking over at him with a small smile. "But I honestly don't remember very much of it, and I only met you here to retrieve what I left with you."

Gojyo had started to smile before he'd even finished his sentence. Kyouya watched his face tighten into the rictus of someone hiding hurt. It was a sharp smile, but the lingering warmth as he said, "Well, hey, you got lunch out of it," stung the most with its lack of malice.

Kyouya knew any words of reassurance, anything done to soften a blow that had already landed, would be an insult. He knew how to land the first bomb, but the lingering suspicion that he might have actually gotten to _like_ Gojyo made him scramble for a second. His smile remained as he said, "It would appear I had."

And then, without really appearing to have absorbed much of that at all, Gojyo said, "So, is your headache better?"

"Yes," said Kyouya out of reflex. And then, "I never told you I had a headache."

Gojyo just smiled at him, then had another bite of his food. Kyouya almost felt like laughing. He swallowed around the stone in his throat and pushed himself up.

"On second thought, let's make it a permanent trade, shall we?" he said, his voice so smooth, so even. He moved to put the lid on the empty styrofoam cup that had held his soup. His hand slipped, the lid split halfway.

Gojyo watched him, then leaned forward slightly. "Hey. Okay, I hear you. Let me try again. Nothing public. No people, no drinks, just us." He stood, taking Kyouya's hesitance as an opening, and said, "One more chance. C'mon."

Gojyo was smiling. Kyouya remembered that smile. The one that was a little brave and a little reckless and the kind of smile that could drive a not-exactly-sober person to discard his tightly held sense of self-control. That smile was a dare and an offer at the same time.

"And you can keep the shirt either way," added Gojyo, when Kyouya had still not answered.

He said the first idiot thing that came to mind. "Had it ever crossed your mind I might not want it?"

Gojyo shrugged. "I've got other shirts."

Kyouya laughed out of surprise. Gojyo's smile warmed. Kyouya realized his mistake. He tried to frown, but knew it was patently false. He said, "I'm sure I wouldn't want any of those either."

"We could go shopping?" asked Gojyo, his smile unabashed.

Kyouya laughed again, tried to stop, gave up. "No, I can't. I'm not doing this." He gathered his trash and threw it away, dusting his hands off on the hips of his jeans.

But Gojyo was close again, not within his personal space, but close enough to speak quietly. "Why not? Really."

Kyouya looked up at him and smiled. "Why are you being so persistent?"

"You don't believe I could just want a chance for a real date?"

Kyouya winced. "No, I do. I do." He turned, putting his hands in his pockets, starting to walk toward his car.

Gojyo jumped into action, stepping around and in front of him. "Hey, whoa! Hold on. Hold on." He held out his hands. "You- what- you like me. I can tell you do. Do you have a boyfriend or something?"

Kyouya blinked, then grimaced. "I'm leaving. You can either shut up and get in the car or you can stand there-"

"Okay. Car it is." Gojyo's eyes were wide.

Kyouya turned away and stalked toward his car. He had lost patience and didn't see any opportunity for its return. He strode around the corner, unlocked his car, and hardly waited for Gojyo to get inside of it before turning on the engine. He drove sedately and safely away from the taco shop, then got onto the freeway and into the fast lane, gunning it hard.

Gojyo made a soft sound, but Kyouya cut him off with a rough, "Shutting up was a condition of being allowed in the car."

He drove for a while, kneading the wheel, fueled by his own mad agitation. Then said, "Alright. Let's say we dated. And, because I can't be foolish enough to do anything in the short term, you and I are now partnered for life. Are you prepared to keep it from your family? From all of your friends? Are you prepared to act as if you don't know me, have never met me, and all to see me for perhaps six months out of the year? Are you prepared to relocate to Japan once I finish college? Are you prepared to be an absolute, unequivocal secret for the rest of your goddamn life?"

He looked over, his jaw tight, and answered before Gojyo could speak. "Of course not. No sane person is. You aren't prepared to lead a double life and I'm not prepared to ask you to do so. Therefore, all of this is rather hopeless conjecture based on the idea that the two of us dating is in any way sane or would be in any way casual, and the time I am losing that could be put to useful damage control is growing less manageable by the minute. If you decide you want to try and hold this over me you are welcome to do so, but unless I was fool enough to let you take pictures it would be useless."

In the ensuing silence, Kyouya narrowly avoided rear-ending an SUV with no regard for its turn signals, and was in the process of changing lanes to get off at an exit when Gojyo finally let out a slow breath.

"So... you're never going to come out? Ever? I mean, the rest of your life is a really long time."

Kyouya braked a bit roughly at the stoplight. "I don't think coming out is at all worth what I have at stake."

Gojyo coughed incredulously. "What could you possibly have at stake?"

"How does one billion dollars sound? It's actually more like one point six at current valuations." Kyouya's lip curled, his smooth veneer thoroughly cracked. "Not to mention the social and emotional toll, estrangement from my family, et cetera."

"O-kay, so I guess I don't really know about that. But then what the shit were you doing at that party last night?"

Kyouya realized his hands were shaking. He winced, forced them to still, forced calm into his voice. He knew he didn't have a good answer and it rankled. "Being a damn' idiot."

Gojyo raised an eyebrow. "Or having fun?"

Kyouya made a strangled noise and parked. He was on a residential street, with only houses and trees around him. Woodenly, feeling the return of his headache, he thought about actually kind of _liking_ Gojyo again. He was the kind of person who could, through confidence alone, talk him into something stupid. He said, "A distraction."

With a sort of incredulous lack of comprehension, Gojyo said, "But you were having fun. I know you were."

"Do you really think that matters?" Kyouya asked, frowning. "Would I really be having this conversation with you if everything I did last night wasn't a mistake?" He raked both hands through his hair, his fingernails catching on a tangle.

Gojyo looked about half an instant away from smacking his own forehead. "Of course it matters! What are you gonna do, be rich and miserable the rest of your life?"

"Fuck you. You have no idea-"

"No! I don't!" Gojyo held up both his hands. "But I _do_ know you were the one who started our little game of tonsil hockey and if it was such a huge fuck-up you have some serious repression issues. You're not going to have any fun? You're not ever going to have anything more than a meaningless fuck?"

Kyouya stared icily out the windshield, his hands clenching. "We didn't."

"No. We didn't. Because you said you wanted to do it in a bed!"

Kyouya turned, his eyes narrowed, mouth open to retort, when Gojyo leveled a finger at him and said, "You. Took. My. Shirt."

"Fine." Kyouya leaned his chair back, reached into the back seat, and grabbed the stupid shirt, holding it out. "You can have it back."

Gojyo sagged, frustration painted across his face. "That's not the point and you know it. The point is I'm pretty sure you wanted to see me again because you took it in the first place."

Kyouya dumped the shirt in his lap. "Do I have to be blunt? What I want doesn't figure into this. It's irrelevant."

Gojyo threw his arms up in the air. "How is it _irrelevant_? And what about what I want?"

"Oh, right, because you're entirely willing to do exactly as I tell you. Because I am _not_ coming out." Kyouya shook his head.

Gojyo's voice was remarkably calm. "I didn't ask you to come out. I asked you to go on a date."

Kyouya clenched his jaw. "They are one and the same. If anyone recognizes me while we are together, game over. As it is, I should be online ensuring that my presence at that party wasn't permanently documented."

"You think you're going to be recognized here? For what?" Gojyo didn't sound derisive, just curious.

In response, Kyouya lifted his chin. "I am the third son of the head of the Ootori Group and it only takes one person knowing who I am to destroy everything I've worked my whole life to build. I am guaranteed nothing and forgiven nothing."

Gojyo stared at him for a moment, then leaned forward, brow furrowed. "That sucks. You know that sucks, right?"

Kyouya gritted his teeth, the sharpness of his knowledge registering more plainly on his face than he wanted. "I don't _have_ to drive you back to your car."

"I didn't - ngh. It's not like a judgment or something. I'm just acknowledging that you're in a shitty situation."

Kyouya sighed. "Okay. So, with your grasp of what you've called 'a shitty situation', can you perhaps see how your actions are contributing to, instead of alleviating, said shit?" He barely bothered to intone it as a question. He was so tired, and his head hurt, and some tiny idiot part of him wished he _could_ just climb into Gojyo's lap and forget the rest.

Gojyo's answer was reluctant. "Yeah, I guess, but. But there's gotta be a way I can help too."

Kyouya smiled over at him, then. "I never made any secret about what it was."

Gojyo made a face at him, baring his teeth. "In a way that doesn't mean I can't ever see you again."

"There isn't one. That's the simple answer. You have two paths here. Complete loss of contact or dirty little secret." He couldn't seem to stop smiling. It was a humorless smile, but he'd always smiled through storms.

"Why? Seriously, I mean, money can't be that fucking important-"

Kyouya laughed, then. "And here we begin to see that we may not be more than sexually compatible. This is really starting to get annoying, Gojyo. I had been entertaining foolish thoughts up to this point but you have helped me realize that, no matter what, it's overwhelmingly probable that within a year or so we wouldn't be able to stand one another. A year is no reason-"

"A year?" he demanded, cutting Kyouya off, "That's a whole year! You're here already decided it's not going to work because of your stuff when what you really mean is that we could have a whole year."

He shook his head and snorted, almost smiling for an instant. "And besides, all this fucking proves is that we're both stubborn bastards and I don't see how that's a problem."

Kyouya stared at him. "Are you _bent_?"

"No." Gojyo shook his head. "You said a year. It's worth trying-"

"The _entire fucking car ride_ was meant to show you that it is, in fact, not. That is perhaps one seventieth of my life, expended in pursuit of the utter destruction of the goals for which I have worked for the first third. You are wearing through my patience."

Gojyo's nose wrinkled. "What the _hell_ are you working for so long? Your whole life?"

Kyouya looked at him for a long moment. Then he sighed. His anger came in waves, and this one was receding. He pressed his hands together and said, "In medieval Europe, the sons of the king had proscribed roles. The first son was the heir to the throne. The second, the head of the king's army. The third? Went to the clergy to become a man of God." He smiled over at Gojyo then. "And while we are not European, my family descends from a long line of Japanese aristocracy, and certain ideas about birth order are just appealing when one has three sons."

He looked out the window and said, "But. My father was not opposed to the idea of meritocracy. So, I was given the chance to prove myself to him. And I did. At the age of seventeen, I bought an entire sector of his company out from under him. And gave it back. After that point, he recognized that I was, in fact, more capable than my brothers, and is grooming me to take over once he's retired."

Gojyo paused. Then said, "Hold on. You were a teenager and you out-businessed your dad?"

Kyouya smiled a little. "That's essentially the idea, yes."

"And you're _worried_ that something as stupid as coming out is going to ruin his opinion of you? Why the fuck would you work for him if you're so much better than he is already?"

Kyouya had opened his mouth, but he shut it. And closed his eyes. Because, just then, he heard Tamaki's voice in the back of his head telling him he was a fool.

He only managed a quiet, "It isn't that simple. My father is still responsible to a board of senior shareholders, and they have very little opinion of me at all."

"And they're gonna shit kittens 'cause you're gay?"

Kyouya looked over, startled by the vulgar language and the amount of understanding it bore. "It would be fair to call them conservative."

Gojyo leaned forward in his seat. "So they're gonna make the stupidest move possible just because of that?"

Kyouya snorted. "You say it as though Americans are much more progressive."

"I can be gay at work, dude!" Gojyo threw his hands up in the air.

"Oh, and which multinational corporation do you run?" he hissed, his eyes narrowed.

Gojyo wrinkled his nose. "What does it matter? It doesn't change the _work_ I do."

Kyouya let out a slow breath. He looked out the windshield and said, "My agreement is in no way a vindication of your opinions, Gojyo. In my position, any indiscretion at all is grounds for removal."

"You can't help what you are," said Gojyo, softly. He'd stopped sounding like he was arguing selfishly, and had begun to speak with the sort of greater conviction Kyouya had heard Tamaki use when he wanted to make someone happy.

"That doesn't mean I have to go out and hook up with a stranger at a party. I should never have put myself in that position." He shook his head. "It was shameful and immature."

Gojyo tilted his head. "So, what's the mature way to do it?"

Kyouya gritted his teeth and rubbed his forehead. "Right, you want to play this game. You want to date. There are two options. The first involves the idea that you are a secret. That never works." He laughed dryly and leaned his head against the headrest. "The second requires that I go home, come out, wait on my father's opinion, and act accordingly. If he is accepting, we give an exclusive interview, first to the board, then to the shareholders, wherein I assure them that I will not be using the group's name or funds for any... advocacy. And I gracefully resign. I already know their opinion on this. If he is not accepting, I go into therapy to be fixed. Either way, I am a flawed specimen."

"And you've gotta work for him?" asked Gojyo, leaning forward again. He put his elbow on the console between the seats. "You can't work anywhere else?"

Gojyo's elbow slipped. The sun roof began to open. Kyouya looked up, watching it, then said, "Why the hell do you care? You have very few reasons to like me, let alone love me. You are acting beyond your best interest."

"Don't like to see people stewing in their own shit."

Kyouya's gaze snapped back down to Gojyo. He frowned. "Right."

"Hey, I dunno." Gojyo shrugged. "I've got no clue about how all that fancy-ass business shit works. But if you beat your dad's ass at it when you were in high school, I figure you have the balls to figure out how to do it and be out of the closet at the same time. For a guy as smart as you? It shouldn't even be hard." He smiled wryly. "And I half figure you're lying about all this anyway. It's a pretty complicated brush-off if it is. But you don't kiss like an amateur."

By a hair's breadth, Kyouya resisted the urge to smack his face repeatedly into the steering wheel. As it was, he felt heat creep up his neck. Like he needed to be lectured by a commoner. Like a complete stranger could see straight through him, down to the soles of his shoes.

He turned his head away, not even giving Gojyo his profile. Through his teeth he said, "No. I don't."

"So what's changed since you learned how?"

Kyouya bowed his head. With a slow movement, he turned the key in the ignition.

"You want me to date you. I'm not going to. No amount of arguing is going to satisfy either of us. I'm going to drop you off at your car."

Gojyo's hand closed around his wrist as he reached for the gearshift. "Hey. This is bigger than me. I get it. Does that mean we can't even hang out while you're still around?"

Kyouya dropped his hand, put the car in drive, felt as Gojyo's grip didn't prevent his movement but didn't release. He looked over, turning his fear of capture and his annoyance at Gojyo's presumption into anger. "I'm busy," he said softly, and felt Gojyo let go.

They drove back in silence, Gojyo's final overture and Kyouya's response hanging weighted between them. Out of courtesy, he pulled into the taco shop parking lot, didn't comment when Gojyo got out like nothing had happened, watched him Act Natural.

He didn't have time for this. He had work to do. And a headache.


	3. Heavy

A/N: And chapter two, in which Kyouya has a lot of conversations, and a lot of thinking to do.

I know chapter 1 was a little TL;DR but I couldn't really break 'em up. Hurk. At least, at the end of this one, there's a little m/m sexy sexy? I apologize to all Saiyuki number pairing users. I dunno if 5/Mama has the same ring...

* * *

><p>Though he'd eaten, though he'd slept, he felt his headache returning at the sound of Fuyumi's voice.<p>

He'd called her, trying to assuage the words running around his head, Gojyo's and Tamaki's running over each other and jabbing at his conscience. He'd called her and said, "Fuyumi, there's something I should tell you."

And she, in her sisterly grace, had said, "Uh huh? Who is he?"

This was going poorly.

Even more so because, in his shock, he'd begun talking. He'd told her of their argument in the car, the things that kept bothering him, how it had started out as a date and had ended in silence.

When he stopped, stunned at his own lack of discretion, she asked him a few things. He'd had to answer honestly, because Fuyumi knew him, knew the modulation in his voice when he lied. Even if they'd grown apart, even if he hardly called or e-mailed, even if they only saw each other on holidays, she knew the way he sounded when he lied.

She'd asked: do you like him?

He'd answered: no.

She'd asked: does he like you?

He'd answered: not anymore.

She'd said: don't lie to me, Kyouya.

He'd said: he has no reason to.

She'd said: do you think he said anything that made sense?

He'd said: no. Yes. No.

She'd said: are you saying no because you like him?

He'd said: I don't know him well enough to like him.

She'd said: oh, honey.

By that point, in hour five of Online Damage Control, in which he had not yet found any photos of himself at the party, nor status updates mentioning him, nor threatening e-mails from Kaoru, he'd broken down and said: I hate this.

She'd said: it's unlike you to do anything you hate, Kyouya.

He hadn't yet called Tamaki. He'd checked in with his security in Japan; that was the extent of his obligation. He'd said: that's an unfounded statement.

She'd said: you're a very smart boy, Kyouya.

He'd said: Fuyumi, I'm not a child.

She'd said: just checking.

* * *

><p>It wasn't as though he didn't have his own side projects. He knew, of all people, Tamaki had his own as well. And it wasn't as though he hadn't fully intended to tell his father about them eventually. It wasn't as though he'd suddenly decided to be selfish in an attempt to get respect from a commoner who, by this point, probably wanted absolutely nothing to do with him.<p>

It was simply that the timing was working out perfectly. He thought he'd make his move.

There was a tourist attraction in the area that had, of late, been absolutely hemorrhaging both sales and staff. Kyouya knew he could do one better. He invited Tamaki to his apartment one cold, raining winter afternoon, and let him nestle under the kotatsu he'd brought just for him. And said, "Tamaki, what do you think about Sea World?"

* * *

><p>These are the things Kyouya learned when he researched Gojyo on the internet:<p>

He had a Facebook, though the information pages were nearly empty and the photo albums were untouched. All of the pictures of him had been uploaded by other people.

The majority of his online friends were male college students, but he was not enrolled in school.

He kept his e-mail address, phone number, and home address private.

He did not have profiles on any dating websites.

He had never been registered as a sex offender.

He worked at a coffee shop called the White Dragon.

The White Dragon had open mic nights. There were no records of him singing.

These are the things Kyouya learned when he researched the White Dragon coffee shop:

It had been in business under that name for roughly six years.

It was privately owned by a man with the family name of Genjo.

It had a very small staff, and no liquor license.

Local artists could display their work if they met with a man with the family name of Cho.

The artist of the month painted portraits in clashing colors, and was overly fond of orange.

These are the things Kyouya knew about the Genjo family:

They had more than enough money than to ever need to work in restaurant management.

The family patriarch had passed away some time before, and the finances, before their only son had grown into a man, were handled by his sister, the boy's aunt.

These are the things Kyouya knew about the aunt:

Her phone number.

Her home address.

Her preference in men.

Her preference in food.

Her attractiveness in daringly slit purple dresses was terrifying.

This quality was even more apparent when she wore white.

This is the number of times Kyouya has dined with the aunt at Ootori Group Functions: four.

* * *

><p>Kaoru leaned on his elbows as he braced them on Kyouya's kitchen counter.<p>

"You invited me over because you think I have something on you."

"Don't you?" asked Kyouya softly.

Kaoru smiled at him. "Yeah. I do. Are you going to negotiate for it?"

"Are you open to negotiation?"

"Stop countering with questions," said Kaoru. He sighed a little, putting his chin in his hand. "Truth is, I won't do anything to fuck up the Boss's stake in your little business venture."

"Oh, he told you, did he?" asked Kyouya, affecting a look of surprise. Of course, as soon as he and Tamaki had drawn up the plans to purchase that boring eyesore and completely change it, Tamaki had called all of the former members of the Host Club, unable to contain his excitement. He was smart enough not to tell the press, to only let those friends of his that were good with secrets know, but Kaoru was one of the trusted few.

Kaoru frowned. "Yeah, and it's pretty insulting that you'd even assume I'd wreck your professional life."

"You did bring it up," said Kyouya. He passed him a cup of tea. "Are you here only to tell me not to worry?"

"What'd you do after you called me? It's been three months."

Kyouya snorted. "I went and performed just the right amount of damage control, Kaoru. I didn't think I needed to check in with you for you to know that."

"So you dumped him." Kaoru raised an eyebrow.

"We would have had to be dating in the first place," said Kyouya, giving Kaoru a pointed look.

Kaoru refused to catch it. "So what'd you do?"

Kyouya said, "I'm not indulging your desire for schadenfreude."

"You're being an ass," said Kaoru. He held the teacup against his palms and looked down into the steam. "You looked happy with him."

"I was drunk," said Kyouya, his words clipped.

"Moot point. People can be sad drunks. Or angry drunks." He shrugged. "I guess I got pissed off because you looked differently at him than you ever did to me."

Kyouya pinched the bridge of his nose. "What did you want to accomplish with this conversation, Kaoru?"

"Someone's defensive," murmured Kaoru. He had a sip of tea. "If you want to know what I've got, you have to ask."

"What do you have, Kaoru," said Kyouya.

"A picture. I got it right before you noticed I was there and decided it was a good time to ditch him." Kaoru smiled. "Pre-tty sexy."

Kyouya grimaced. "You're welcome."

Kaoru snorted. And put a memory card on the counter, sliding it across the granite. "Nope. You are."

* * *

><p>Kyouya waited until he was alone to look. It was human curiosity, really. Proving to himself that Kaoru was, in fact, telling the truth.<p>

When had he become so paranoid?

He shook himself and opened the file.

It was a phone picture, grainy and dark. They'd found a back corner of the dining room, a nook wedged in between the wall and a stack of empty beer boxes. Their shirts, green and gray, lay over the back of a chair nearby. His was inside-out, Gojyo's rumpled in a ball. Kyouya had his back to the wall, arching away from it, both hands buried in Gojyo's hair. Gojyo was pressed up against him, hip to hip, chest to chest, his side and back visible. Even in the picture, the scars on him were obvious. He had a tattoo between his shoulderblades, and one hand bracing the small of Kyouya's back. The other held the side of Kyouya's neck, his thumb against Kyouya's jaw, framing a fresh, bright bruise.

The picture sent a spike of heat down into Kyouya's belly. It had been good. It had been foolish, and reckless, and _so good_.

A picture like that could - embarrass him. He hated that Kaoru had taken it. That anyone had seen it at all. He wondered if Gojyo knew.

He looked at himself, captured in a moment of weakness and need, and tried to hate it. Tried to hate how it felt, how good it had been, how it had made him miss it the moment it was gone.

He tried to convince himself it was only carnal. That he responded because he was being _touched_. That the way Gojyo did it hadn't mattered. That it had been the same with Kaoru. That it would be the same with anyone else.

Kyouya stared at Gojyo's hand on his neck. He could almost remember it, like warm strength cradling his head. Fingers that asked, not demanded.

He closed the file before he could dwell further. Already his teeth dug deep into his lower lip. He could feel weakness welling up like a rock in his throat, and he swallowed it before it moved his hand.

Showing Gojyo was not an option. Contacting him was not an option. He unplugged the memory card reader and dropped the whole unit into the top drawer of his nightstand.

_So, what's the mature way to do it?_

Kyouya, his jaw clenched tight, worked until dawn.


	4. Cold

A/N: Welcome to Chapter... uh... four. So I took chapter one and broke it up 'cause it was disproportionately long. Hanh. Anyway this is the only new bit. Love to the beta-Bean.

In which Kyouya Gets Sick. Also, The Minor Redemption of Kaoru. I really don't think he's as much of a vindictive bastard as he's played here, but it's just kind of the piece of him that shows. Oh, Kaoru.

* * *

><p>Winter days spent under the kotatsu planning with Tamaki gave way to spring, to the heat of summer and meetings by the pool. But, to allow Tamaki his carefree creativity, to occupy himself to keep his imagination at bay, Kyouya worked nights. He took classes, and worked on his side projects, and maintained the work his father presented him without even hinting at his larger plans.<p>

As he worked, he found caffeine did less and less for him. He thought of smoking only once before chiding himself, let alone touching stronger stuff. The gnawing in his stomach was sometimes hunger, sometimes heartburn. But as the ache grew sharper, as some nights his fingers shook, he had to stop deluding himself.

The Ootori Group had a set of elite physicians stationed in the United States, almost solely for Kyouya. When he visited, he was admitted into care with the sort of speed that made his head spin. The diagnosis: peptic ulcers. The prescription: antibiotics and rest. The physicians had been well-warned of his habits and had, under pain of his father's intervention, admitted him into a suite.

The first day, Tamaki visited. Cried over him, promised to take all the meetings that couldn't be rescheduled, promised to bring Haruhi to as many as he could. Apologized for not bringing his laptop, for not bringing his cell phone.

Kyouya reminded Tamaki that he was not exactly an invalid. Tamaki flailed and told him that, no, this time, he was.

The second day, he received a phone call from his father. The insinuation was veiled thickly, but he could hear, under the concern, the decision: Kyouya can't take the stress. He can't just be a student away from home with what little he's been given on the side.

The evening of the second day, Kyouya suspected they slipped sedatives in his food to keep him from shaking.

The third day, in the morning, Kaoru came. With Hikaru, yes, but Kaoru came. They stood at his bedside, the two of them, Hikaru by his feet, Kaoru by his head.

Kaoru said to him, softly, "That's it. There's a point where you just can't take it any more, you know? This is it." He reached down and put his hand on Kyouya's shoulder and smiled. "So you're welcome."

Kyouya said, "What?" But Kaoru had already left the room.

Hikaru smiled at him and said, "Feel better, okay?"

Kyouya said, "-Ah."

Hikaru turned toward the door and opened it as Kaoru poked his head in. Kaoru smiled and said, "Hey. Take your time, okay?"

And Gojyo, in a collared shirt, with his hair back, and a half-smile, came in. And said, "Hey."

Kyouya stared. Kaoru, wisely, disappeared.

Kyouya found himself alone with Gojyo, completely blindsided and ready to _kill_ Kaoru.

"Ah- hi."

Gojyo came in a little further, blinking as the suite door was shut behind him. Kyouya could nearly hear the twins giggling in the hall. He grimaced. Gojyo said, "Uh. So. A-are they making you comfortable here?"

With a lead-in question like that, Kyouya answered warily. "Yes."

"Oh. Okay. Good." Gojyo sat slowly in the chair by the head of the bed. "Have you had a lot of people coming by?"

Kyouya said, "A few. Mostly phone calls."

The pain on Gojyo's face sharpened into a rough, sour expression. "Phone calls?"

"My family is in Japan," said Kyouya carefully.

The silence met after that sentence was heavy. Then Gojyo nodded and said, "Oh, yeah, makes sense." The politeness in his voice was audibly strained.

Kyouya paused. "Gojyo, ah. What exactly did Kaoru tell you to get you to come here?"

"Just, you know." Gojyo shrugged. "That you could use a couple of visitors while they're still keeping you here."

"And- and you came." It sounded stupid as soon as he'd said it, but he couldn't help it, the shock still taking hold of his tongue.

Gojyo smiled. "Well, yeah. I mean, you know."

Kyouya's heart sank a little. "Do I?"

"Yeah." Gojyo's smile softened and he bowed his head a little. "Obviously this wasn't the way I wanted to run into you again, but."

Kyouya's heart sank further. These sounded like parting words. Like serious, emotionally weighted words. He chewed the side of his cheek. "Ah."

Then, Gojyo's actual words sank in. That Gojyo hadn't given up. That he'd wanted to see him again. That he'd _thought_ about him.

His conscience twinged. "Gojyo, what- what exactly did Kaoru say about my diagnosis?"

Gojyo looked faintly stricken. "Well, uh. He was a little vague. I didn't want to, you know, dig."

_Oh, God,_ thought Kyouya. _Kaoru probably told him that I'm dying._

And yet. Knowing that, Gojyo came. When he could have easily blown Kaoru off, could have slipped away knowing his guilt wouldn't last.

Kyouya held out his hand, palm-up. He waited for Gojyo's touch, then closed his fingers around Gojyo's hand.

"Gojyo. It's an ulcer. I'm going to recover."

Gojyo's concern evaporated. He leaned back, looked away, laughed in relief and embarrassment. But he held on to Kyouya's hand and gave it a brief squeeze. "Oh. Oh. Hey- am I messing something up by being here?"

The turnaround was so quick, so conscientious that Kyouya almost had trouble following. But he realized, then, that Kaoru had gotten Gojyo and brought him, and they were touching in a hospital room. Kyouya felt his hand tightening.

The fool part of him beat him to the punch. He said, softly, "The door's closed."

But he let go all the same, putting his palms together over his stomach.

Gojyo smiled a little, leaning his elbows on his knees. "I should probably go though, huh?"

Kyouya looked at him, then smiled down at his knees. He nodded, feeling the twist in his stomach. He'd said goodbye to him once, and that was supposed to have been enough. He was going to _kill_ Kaoru.

"I apologize for Kaoru. And for taking up your time."

"What? No. No way." Gojyo smiled, and shrugged. "I mean. You have my number, right? I'm- I'm good."

Kyouya couldn't make himself look up. What kind of human made that sort of offer? What kind of honest feeling could prompt him?

"Right," said Kyouya softly.

Gojyo stood. Kyouya glanced up. He thought, _too early_ and startled himself with it. As he watched Gojyo go, the lines of him and the way he kept his head up and told him goodbye like they would see each other again like friends, he thought, _too early_.

The twins didn't come in again when Gojyo left, and for that Kyouya was grateful. If for nothing else, their absence was the right choice.

He felt the gnawing in his stomach, high up under his ribs, and put his hand over it.

* * *

><p>The fourth day, Tamaki came back to him. He made no mention whatsoever of Kaoru, or of having any knowledge of the twins' visit. He gave Kyouya as many updates on their collaborative work as he could, and agreed, though not entirely willingly, to bring Kyouya a laptop.<p>

When he left, Haruhi sat by his side. She'd started growing her hair out, started wearing dresses, and though they were decidedly without frills, they were often short enough that Kyouya had become passingly familiar with the freckles on her knees. Her dress on the day of the visit was a soft maroon, her hair straight and to her shoulders.

She said, "We're worried about you, Kyouya. Are you sure working will be good for you?"

Kyouya let out a breath and said, "What else do you expect me to do here?"

"I don't know. Rest?" She tugged at a lock of hair that had fallen behind her ear. "Having a lot of stress ruins your immune-"

"I know that, Haruhi. I know that." Kyouya paused, then pressed his palms together. "But you must consider that it is considerably more stressful for me not to work."

She huffed. "I know. The Merman Project."

"Is that really what Tamaki's calling it?" he asked, wincing.

Haruhi laughed. "And doodling in the margins of his notes."

"I don't want to lose any momentum," said Kyouya. He lay his head back and sighed. "Not to mention my schoolwork."

"Like you aren't six chapters ahead," deadpanned Haruhi.

Kyouya smiled, caught. "You know too much."

"I know enough." She crossed her legs and grinned at him. "And I'm allowed to worry about you. You wouldn't actually be here if it weren't serious. And Tamaki told me-"

"Tamaki is dramatic-"

Haruhi lifted her chin. "He said the doctors told you that, had it been any worse, they would have had to operate."

Kyouya tipped his head back and groaned softly. "Haruhi."

"So he wasn't lying. Look, we know you can do this better than anyone. But if you've actually made yourself sick-"

"Are you saying I should stop?" asked Kyouya, his voice low.

Haruhi sighed. "No. But maybe easing up a little, and getting some rest, would help. You know?"

Kyouya sighed. "I hear you. But I don't exactly find doing nothing to be restful."

"There's got to be a balance." She put her feet up against the edge of the bed and tucked her hands under her thighs. "Just because pushing yourself is fun doesn't mean it's the only thing you can do."

Kyouya pinched the bridge of his nose. "Haruhi, you have a way of speaking the truth that would be so immensely frustrating if it were not coming from you."

"I'll take that as a compliment." She tilted her head. "Though. This is unusual, isn't it?"

"What is?" asked Kyouya softly.

"Usually it _is_ fun."

Kyouya chewed the side of his tongue and said, "Oh. Usually."

She looked at him for a moment, then murmured, "So what isn't fun?"

For an instant, he thought about telling her. Then, he smiled. "Ulcers."

She held eye contact for a long moment. Then sighed, and shook her head. "You've got that right. I don't envy you."

After that, she talked to him about her school, about studying law late into the night, about taking graduate-level classes as an undergrad, about how Tamaki snuck over to her apartment at all hours, bringing gifts.

Kyouya listened, smiling at the right moments, feeling unreasonably proud. He had almost no hand in her success, but all the same she was in some small way his. When she tried not to glow under a compliment of his, he knew he'd done right.

Tamaki returned some time later, Kyouya's computer under his arm. And they sat with him, talking about silly things, reminiscing and complaining about classes, each of them carefully not asking troublesome questions.

When they left, Kyouya opened the computer to find just how far behind he'd fallen.

To his credit, Kyouya admitted that his father was nothing if not efficient. His father would prefer a strong, smart son in charge of the company instead of the smartest weakling. Kyouya had buckled under the stress.

The workload from the Ootori Group had been entirely cancelled. All of the smaller projects under Kyouya's eye had been delegated to his brothers, or to other employees. It was the last part that was so thoroughly insulting.

He had, in the end, been planning to share his new project with his father. He decided, then, that he was under no obligation to do so. No, his father would learn at the same time as the rest of the world, and not a moment sooner.


	5. Sober

A/N: Aaaand the conclusion. In which Kyouya gets drunk again.

* * *

><p>Kyouya was not the kind of person to let himself wallow. No, he picked the correct times and places for sorrow and self-loathing, generally preferring the former in private and the latter in the most lush, catered surroundings he could find.<p>

It was in a little seaside restaurant that he found himself courting both, sitting in a window seat overlooking the ocean, a fine seared ahi salad before him nestled beside half of a bottle of wine. He could feel the flush in his cheeks, the other half of the bottle already doing its fine work. Still, it had to be said that Kyouya, when he meant to be drunk, did it in style. His glass never hit empty completely, but neither did he fill it more than half full.

When the bottle had been three-quarters full, he'd set his phone out on the table before him and sent a text message.

It read: I didn't even have to be gay.

The response came not two minutes later: Where are you?

And so he was waiting for a dinner companion, one contacted in a fit of madness, one who might actually understand.

When Gojyo came in, he slid into the seat across from Kyouya, looking wry and wary. He said, "Hey."

Kyouya smiled at him and said, "Order anything you'd like."

Gojyo opened his mouth, perhaps to protest, but a waiter was already sliding a menu down before him. Kyouya's smile quirked. There were certain places where, he'd found, waitstaff could be fleet-footed, predictive, and subtle. Gojyo shot him a bemused look, but played along.

Softly, Gojyo said, "Any recommendations?"

Kyouya looked at him for a moment, considered, then said, "Yes." He paused again, said, "They're rather known for their fish."

"Oh," said Gojyo. He looked over the menu. Kyouaya had another slow sip of wine.

When Gojyo closed the menu, he opened his mouth to try and speak, the waiter had returned to take his order. Kyouya noticed he asked for a soda. And one of their cuts of grilled fish.

With the waiter gone, Gojyo leaned his elbows on the table and said, "Okay. So, seriously. What happened?"

Kyouya smiled a little and pushed the bottle across the table with one finger. "You should have some."

Gojyo narrowed his eyes at him, but lifted the bottle, filling his wineglass a bit more than halfway full. "Thanks."

Kyouya picked at his food, watching as Gojyo set the bottle back down. Then he said, "It was decided that I am unfit for the position I sought."

Gojyo paused, the glass halfway to his mouth. "What?"

"A son who is excellent and frail is more of a liability than a son who is only slightly less excellent and strong." Kyouya smiled at him, his tone light and sure. "My health was called into question."

Gojyo frowned. "Wait, you got dropped because you had to go to the hospital?"

Kyouya nodded, his chin on his fist. "Of course. I could hardly handle my college courses and a little bit of extracurricular homework." He laughed. "You know, I was going to tell him. I really was."

Gojyo paused and set the glass back down. "Tell who what?"

"My father. The little bit of responsibility he'd given me wasn't much at all. I'd been occupied with bigger things. I still am." Kyouya smiled. He felt like he'd missed Gojyo. Like it was easy to tell him. And why not? He hadn't let anything else slip, had he? "What do you know about Sea World?"

"It's a theme park? Hell, I dunno."

Kyouya murmured, "Do you like it? Or do you think it's boring."

"I haven't gone. It doesn't really seem worth it, you know?"

The waiter came with Gojyo's soda. Kyouya smiled at him and waited until the waiter was out of earshot before murmuring, "I bought it."

Gojyo sputtered, choking on a mouthful of soda. "Shit!"

"Don't swear, Gojyo. This is a nice restaurant." Kyouya had another sip of wine. "Mm-hm. It's mine. And Suoh's. Did you ever look him up? Or me?"

Gojyo shook his head. Kyouya stared, lifting the bottle to refill his wineglass to exactly the halfway point. "Not even a little? You didn't go online over me even once?"

"We-ll, you," admitted Gojyo.

Kyouya snorted. "There, I was getting worried. Did you see any pictures of a blond? Him. It's a joint - a joint. We're doing it together."

"Buying Sea World?" asked Gojyo, his voice an incredulous hiss.

Kyouya put a finger to his lips. "Shh. Keep it quiet, would you?"

"Oh-kay," said Gojyo. He laughed a little and said, "Gotcha."

Kyouya nodded a little, and looked down at his plate. He picked at it a little. "After all. Making a purchase that big - that's stressful. Rebuilding it. It will be closed after this summer, not to re-open until spring. So it can be fixed."

"You keeping the animals?" asked Gojyo softly.

"Of course!" said Kyouya, then lowered his voice. "Of course. Yes. But- but can you see how that is worthy of an ulcer? I've never bought a theme park before."

Gojyo nodded, his expression wry and understanding. "Yeah. That's gotta be - pretty expensive."

"Not as expensive as you'd think. But. You know." Kyouya had another sip of wine. "Between that and you, I was under unusual amounts of stress. So it makes sense."

"Me? What did I do? I didn't call or tell anyone-"

Kyouya sighed. "I know you didn't. I didn't say that you did. You're so weird."

Gojyo frowned. "Why?"

"I have done absolutely nothing to make you like me and you're still so nice. So ridiculously nice to me. All I am is mean. And drunk. I think I'm getting drunk."

"Yes, you are," said Gojyo, starting to smile. "I think you're right about that."

Kyouya sighed, turning the wine bottle so the label faced him. "Not very drunk. Just a little drunk. Drunk enough to say I missed you."

Gojyo was quiet for a long time, long enough that Kyouya looked up from the wine bottle and frowned at him. "What?"

Gojyo shook his head. "Nothing. Hey, do you- do you want to just... get out of here?"

Kyouya raised an eyebrow. "You haven't even gotten your food yet."

"I can eat it at home," said Gojyo, shrugging in response. "My place isn't far from here."

Kyouya considered this. He looked at Gojyo, watched the earnestness in his expression and the way his hair fell down to rest at the base of his throat. He looked to the bottle of wine, tilted it to see that there wasn't very much left at all. And sighed. "If you say so."

Gojyo smiled at him. "Yeah. I do."

* * *

><p>The inside of Gojyo's car, Kyouya discovered, was remarkably clean. It smelled a little like cigarette smoke, a little like coffee, a little like cheap pine air freshener. The footwells didn't have any fast food wrappers. He sat in the passenger seat with Gojyo's food in a styrofoam box in his lap.<p>

Gojyo drove comfortably, his eyes on the road, both hands on the wheel. Kyouya watched him driving, thought it would be nice if they could just get into bed. That was the sort of thing that happened when someone asked you back to his apartment.

He hadn't expected it to move so quickly. All he'd said was that he missed Gojyo. That was true enough, though some days he missed him like a runner misses a torn ligament. He hadn't said he cared for him, particularly, nor had he apologized. He'd just said he was out of work under his father, and that he'd missed him.

People who cared too much tended to build a lot of meaning out of statements like that. If he'd said those sorts of things to Kaoru, he couldn't predict how the boy would have reacted.

But the wine made him warm and comfortable, and Gojyo looked as good as he'd remembered.

He asked, "D'you still have that shirt?"

Gojyo glanced over. "Yeah?"

Kyouya hummed. "Just wondering."

"You don't still have mine, do you?" asked Gojyo with a wry smile. Before Kyouya could answer, he continued, "It's a nice shirt. Yours."

Kyouya looked out the passenger side window. "I do have yours."

"Really?" Gojyo looked surprised.

Peeved, Kyouya said, "No, I was lying."

Gojyo laughed. "I was surprised, that's all."

"You think I'm an asshole."

Gojyo shook his head. "No, it's evidence. If you're really worried about keeping your secret and all."

Kyouya snorted. "The practical answer is that other people take out my trash, but I do my own laundry."

"So that means there's an impractical answer?" asked Gojyo.

Kyouya rubbed his face. "Not drunk enough yet."

Gojyo looked over at him, his face washed out in red light. "Impractical like stealing it in the first place? If you knew you were never going to want to see me again."

"Impractical like drunk-texting you months later," murmured Kyouya. "But you showed up so that's at least partially your fault for being an enabler."

Gojyo laughed. "You know, I didn't say come back to my place _for drinks_. I'm not a complete enabler."

"But you have a bed, don't you?" asked Kyouya, his head back against the headrest.

Gojyo grinned and moved on as the light turned green. "Uh huh. Real comfy too, just got new pillows. You're gonna love it."

"I'm glad you have the right kind of priorities," said Kyouya, nodding. The more he nodded, the dizzier he felt, until he said, "Who-ah," and had to stop.

"Doing okay?" asked Gojyo softly, without laughter.

Kyouya said, "More or less."

"How long have you been out of the hospital anyway," he muttered.

Kyouya counted for a moment, said, "Four days?"

"Great," said Gojyo, and sighed.

"I know, right?" said Kyouya, and closed his eyes. "I have no idea where my sedatives went. But the wine is working out. I'm glad."

Gojyo said, "We're here."

Kyouya looked up at the building and said, "Oh-h. Agg- agg- apartments."

"Home sweet home," said Gojyo.

* * *

><p>Gojyo did, indeed, have a bed. It was small, but it still managed to fill a lot of the floor space of his single-room studio. It was also not just a mattress on the floor, with an actual box spring on a frame. Kyouya learned this as he fell onto it, moving unsteadily but secure in his destination.<p>

He rolled onto his back, watching as Gojyo toed out of his shoes and hung up his coat. He thought about Gojyo's scars, about never having asked about them. About how they felt under his hands, how he couldn't remember but could imagine. He watched Gojyo set his food container inside a little refrigerator under the counter, then turn to him and smile.

But then Gojyo just sat on the edge of the bed and looked down at him.

Confused, Kyouya put a protective arm over his own stomach and said, "What?"

"What exactly are you after?" asked Gojyo.

Kyouya frowned. "You asked me back here."

Gently, Gojyo said, "I'm still allowed to ask what you want. Don't wanna disappoint, after all."

Kyouya thought for a minute. Then he said, "Maybe I'm confused. I thought asking someone back was a request for sex and my agreement meant the feeling was mutual."

"Just wanted to know where you were coming from," said Gojyo, and kissed him before he could respond.

Kyouya sighed, and rather hoped he'd remember it this time. Gojyo was so warm, so tender, guiding Kyouya down into black unconsciousness without a word.

* * *

><p>Kyouya woke with a headache. He also woke alone.<p>

He sat up, bracing the heel of his hand against his forehead, and- remembered. Everything. Telling Gojyo he missed him, and kissing Gojyo, here, in his apartment. Being too drunk to be embarrassed, but not so horridly wasted that he couldn't remember, couldn't think.

He looked around. The place was small, but furnished completely. Gojyo even had a little wooden table, with two chairs, though each was of a different style and finish. He had a wooden bookshelf, half-stocked, and multiple posters on the walls, black and white print-outs for bands that had played at the White Dragon. And, on the backside of the front door, a note.

It read: _At work until 11. I'll come back with lunch. Lock the door if you leave._

Kyouya checked the time on the microwave, then winced. He had a few hours to sleep off the headache.

In Gojyo's bathroom, he found aspirin. That, coupled with a full glass of water, served as his breakfast. He returned to bed, burying his face in a pillow.

* * *

><p>Kyouya woke to the smell of coffee.<p>

When he lifted his head, his headache had gentled somewhat. He sat up, opened one eye and then the other.

Gojyo was in the kitchen, a mug at his lips, a paper bag on the counter. He looked over and said, "Did you just wake up?"

Kyouya ran a hand through his hair. "I woke up earlier."

Gojyo smiled at him. He said, "How's your head?"

"Ah. I took a few of your aspirin. It's better than it was." Kyouya adjusted his glasses with the heel of his hand.

"That's good," said Gojyo. He picked up the bag, and a second cup of coffee, and came to sit on the edge of the bed. He handed Kyouya the cup, and said, "I brought lunch."

Kyouya held the coffee under his face and took a deep breath. "I don't know if I can eat very much."

Gojyo handed him a bundle wrapped in paper. "Just start with half. I promise, it'll help."

Kyouya took it one-handed and opened the paper in his lap. It was a sandwich, with bacon, lettuce, tomato, and slices of hard-boiled egg. He felt his stomach turn. "Ah-"

"Trust me. Fixes everything." Gojyo smiled at him, and got out one of his own.

Kyouya watched him eat for a moment, then said, "This faith of yours. Is it scientifically based?"

"Eggs'll help your liver process the shit you drank and generations of drunks swear by bacon." Gojyo shrugged. "Not that I'm callin' you a drunk."

"I suppose I can't ask you not to swear in your own home," said Kyouya by way of concession. He raised the sandwich to his mouth and had a small bite. His stomach responded with fervent desire, and he chased it with a mouthful of coffee.

Gojyo, to his credit, appeared to try to temper his smugness as he ate. Kyouya watched him for a moment, then ate as well. It was slow, and he couldn't finish even the first half, but he drained his coffee.

The first thing Gojyo said to him after that was, "Oh, yeah," when Kyouya moved to get out of bed to head toward the bathroom. The first touch Gojyo gave him was a hand on his shoulder to help him up.

When Kyouya came back, having rinsed his mouth and face with cool water, he wiped his glasses on his shirt and said, "Where did you sleep?"

Nonchalantly, Gojyo said, "There's only one bed and you told me you were cold."

Kyouya snorted and sat down next to him. "It's always my fault, isn't it. Well, I'm glad you didn't do something stupid like sleep on the floor."

"Not your fault." Gojyo smiled. "I'm the one who invited you up here."

Kyouya couldn't quite keep the smile off of his face as he said, "And we skipped a crucial step."

"You said you wanted to sleep with me. I followed through," Gojyo said with a grin.

Kyouya rubbed his forehead, and murmured, "You're putting words in my mouth. I said we came back to have sex. I remember that."

"Yeah, but you've got a headache." Gojyo paused, then said a contemplative, "But I hear it helps."

"You were waiting for me to get sober?" asked Kyouya, his eyebrows drawing together.

Gojyo looked over and half-smiled. "Yeah."

When Kyouya continued to frown, he added, "There's nothing wrong with that."

After a moment more, he looked away, down at his hand where it was braced on the bed. Kyouya followed his gaze, over his tan wrist, striped with the barest hint of scars, to the back of his hand, with calluses on the sides of his fingers and an unnaturally smooth patch on the back of one of his knuckles.

He said, "I'm more honest when I'm drunk."

"Yeah, maybe," agreed Gojyo. "But in the morning, that makes it a lot easier to pretend what you did was just because you were drunk."

Kyouya said, "Hn. And. And what could you possibly be getting out of this? Of course, I'm assuming you'd even want to date me."

Gojyo smiled crookedly. "Honestly? I dunno what I'd get out of it, but yeah. I'm hoping that's why you asked me out, even if you were drunk."

"You are a sucker for punishment," said Kyouya softly, looking back down at Gojyo's hand.

Gojyo snorted, and said, "No, this is the part where it starts getting better."

Kyouya laughed in spite of himself. Of all times, he again allowed Gojyo to charm him. It wasn't Host Club charm, but the real thing. He said, "And you're not just in it for the whales?"

"More of a dolphin guy myself." He paused, then said, "Actually, sea cucumbers are cool. 'Cause they throw themselves up and turn inside out."

Kyouya fought down another laugh. "Your bedside manner leaves something to be desired. Talking about vomit at a time like this."

"Nah, you finished your coffee. You'll be alright."

Kyouya sighed a little, looking down at his empty cup. He shook it. And said, "I suppose I will."

Gojyo was quiet for a moment. Kyouya felt the movement of the bed as Gojyo lifted his hand from it, felt him touch the inside of his wrist. Gojyo's fingertips were warm.

"I meant it as a good thing, you know?"

Kyouya laughed. Gojyo's fingertips slid up against the base of his palm. Kyouya could feel each one, mildly rough, slow and sure. It was a touch more electric than any kiss. He closed his eyes with a quiet sigh.

"A good thing. Yeah."

Gojyo's fingers moved down his palm until their hands were pressed together. He twined their fingers, and Kyouya let him.

"Scale of one to ten, how sober are you?" asked Gojyo, a smile in his voice.

"As a stone," said Kyouya, and squeezed.


End file.
